


when they come for me (i will drag them down)

by atmospherical



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AkaMido - Freeform, Akashi Seijuurou is god, Akashi Seijuurou version 2, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmospherical/pseuds/atmospherical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>victors, they don't feel a thing when they bleed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when they come for me (i will drag them down)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate THG inspired verse. Originally posted on tumblr out of request.   
> WARNING: violence and psychological disturbance. flow of story goes from present to past, may be confusing to some.

He woke up with his back pressed against cold metal, thin fold blanket the only layer protecting his skin from the exposed air, carelessly placed to stop inches away from where his toes are, naked feet and dirty nails smothered in sticky mud and dry blood fully exposed. His sense, dazed and numb; his muscles, stiff and strained he's starting to wonder if this is how victors are treated as soon as they galloped down the helicopter.

The sound of metal and steel clash and clang in his mind, resonating cymbals scream harmony of empty crying sin, hollow space of impaired corruption. Men in lab coat move around the operating table he was glued to, some with documents on clipboard, others with scalpels and ice picks. Above him underneath the pale ceiling flickers a fluorescent lit surgical light, cool blue incandescence gnawing his eyesight, pulling vessels and tissues.

He doesn't quite get what they're doing, however, he wasn't dead enough to miss the yapping snap of a broken chord, almost like a wire.

"Good to see you are awake," purple hair the color of venomous toxic hovers before him, green irises and edgy nose hidden behind cloudy gas mask Akashi wants nothing more than to slice it open, tearing flesh breaking skin, "congratulation, Akashi. The Capitol really enjoyed what you did out there."

There is bile bubbling down his throat, ocean salt swimming in his eyes Akashi thought pain was back once again to befriend him.

"As a matter of fact, we are giving you a special treatment," _mad doctors in white, mad doctors in white_ they are Death dressed in human skin. Fatality drenched in human blood so real you wouldn't notice the lies beneath those sinister grin, "we are _modifying_ you."

Akashi feels jabs and punctures and drills in his head, ice pick clawing eyelid and scalpel digging wires of what's kept inside the system, _his_ system. 

"We are _modifying_ you, you are our victor, Akashi. Our greatest achievement."

Cold friction screeches when he tilts his head a little to the west, eyes trying to find something - _someone_ \- he himself wasn't sure _who_.

Needle stings the side of his neck sending third degree burn gliding down his vein, black crisp charcoal ash stains his gum it almost, _almost_ made him feel like he is being burned alive.

Akashi shuts the gate of his vision and waits (for another voice to come, to congratulate, to say-- _I'm proud of you, Seijuurou, you truly are my son_ \--)

\--in blank sheets where his subconscious lies, however, the only sound available there is the sound of more steel, more metal tools as they rifted against each other.

\---

He volunteered no name, raised no hand and prayed no blame. They picked a paper and it was his name they had called -- _Akashi Seijuurou, please step aside_ like getting reaped is just another breakfast set on expensive plating and silver utensils. Beside him, some kids sighed in relief while others kept their affirmative nervous exterior printed on their face, fists clenched and pupils dilated they looked like they're close to throwing up.

If only they didn't require him to _step aside and walk up the stage_ , Akashi would have laughed and raised hell fire around the backyard of their home. _How pathetic._

The crowd broke into a fit of approving cheers, ear-splitting roar at its highest peak. Akashi reached out a footstep towards the podium with head held high and eyes stayed sharp, perfect composition the way he was taught to _(like a leader, a leader he was bred to be)_.

 ---

Midorima Shintarou was the _only_ person who had the permission to stand beside him. 

Akashi never really knew much about him other than the fact that he, too, played chess and read books. He was quiet, just like him and he valued intelligence above anything else, always opting for the logical ,always choosing the right path (or so he thought). It was ironic when they first called his name, so ironic that it made Akashi's blood boiled in disgust.

"So there we have it, our two--"

The voice of their escort died in his head and Akashi wasn't even bothered by the glance his _partner_  threw on the plank. The redhead snapped his eyes shut and for the second time that day, let the grin sink in, sneaky lips and all like an apex predator ready to lunge. 

He took Shintarou's outstretched hand and there wasn't even a moment of hesitation when the two of them opened their eyes right at the same time. The green haired, though, returned no smile of his own but Akashi knew what game he's playing -- _I'm going to save you for last._

\---

Train ride was plastered, tampered, wasted on chess pieces and equal squared ground of black and white. The tip of his finger drew invisible lines across the edge of the board, lazy eyes fuzzy mind measuring speed counting seconds, calling distraction from the oncoming footsteps slowly making their way towards him.

"Akashi."

"Yes?"

There was a pause. Akashi sensed hesitation dancing in the air, doubt and fear mingled against each other breaking pride dragging soul. It was the kind of feeling he was taught to stay away from, the kind of feeling he was banned from.

He felt nauseous.

"I assume we are discussing about the game," came another voice intensely immersed in agitation, "aren't we?"

"Yes, yes we are," Akashi watched Nijimura Shuuzou from the corner of his eyes, watched the anxiety and tension enveloping their mentor like millions of black spectral hands hugging around the waist of a young man, "you don't really have a choice."

"I _do_."

Akashi sensed two pair of eyes throwing daggers and knives piercing through his vein, harsh and hoarse chills ran down his spine.

"You do," Shintarou repeated, fixing his already perfectly positioned glasses, " _of course_ you do."

"You are not the only one who can wield a weapon, Akashi," Nijimura Shuuzou clicked his tongue, snatching a box of brand new cigarette and lighter from the nearest table. Smoke escaped from the tip of his guilty pleasure, dirty smell of cocaine and mint a love affair in broad daylight, "this isn't a game."

"Oh but it _is_ ," Akashi twirled the pawn in between fingers and clutched it in his palm so tightly his knuckle turned pale white, "everything _is_ a game. The only thing that matters is _how_  an individual actually takes control," the pawn slipped and rolled all the way down to Shintarou's foot, "am I right, Nijimura- _san_?" _  
_

But Nijimura Shuuzou found himself clawing the base of his palm a little too deep he thought it _might have_ bled.

\---

When gunpowder flew from the tip of a gun's mouth, a blurry scene of children clanged and clanked against each other a catastrophe was called upon grassy field where rocks slept and flowers dreamed in vast abundance. Blood was spilled on thrilling hearts and some on his shirt, red dots screaming lives stolen from children probably younger than he ever was.

"Akashi, _move_."

_(It was quick, so quick but he was convinced--)_

So he did.

_(--he saw a flash of green orbs running past him)_

\---

The first kill was done by the riverbank.

Akashi had no idea who he was but he sure memorized the way he knelt on his knees, trembling fingers rambling words he begged to be spared. The boy _(too young to fight, too weak to die)_  had his hand secured around a spear that was never meant to be his, a spear that was twice the length of what he could manage.

The insides of his stomach churned into an unpleasant knot.

_"D-don't--"_

But you see, losing was never the option. Not in this game, not in his life and certainly not in the book he grew up with _(because father, father would be very, very disappointed and Akashi does not want to make him sad--)_.

So he did what he was supposed to like how he was taught to.

_(it was messy and brisk with dirty splatters of red all over him but he, like a beast lusting for distortion--_

_he never felt so alive.)_

\---

Shintarou once questioned him if there was any remorse or regret in any of the deed he had done.

"They scream at me in my sleep."

"Does that bother you?"

Akashi watched his _partner_ (fire drowned his choice of word sinking explosives down his gut) in silence, watched the way Shintarou scrubbed the dry blood off a spear Akashi retrieved from his first kill. He had, in fact, given it to Shintarou, saying that _it'd come in handy_ though he was in no position of using it.

"Does _this_ bother you?" 

Akashi let out a laughter, the first one ever since he - _they_ \- stepped into the arena, the first one ever since he left Nijimura Shuuzou extremely enraged for not letting himself be tutored. 

"You will have another scream in your head tonight, Shintarou," Akashi snickered in a way that made Shintarou clutched the end of _his_ spear a little too tightly they heard the echo of blood dropping, _"sleep tight."_

It was an irony of its own.

Shintarou felt himself smiling a little.

\---

The second deed was done in black and red; poisonous berries cracked open an esophagus of a boy with dark red hair, cutting skin reaping life out of his sharp, sharp eyes they lost their radiance the moment Shintarou lit matchsticks all around him, flat body on rough rocks. 

Green irises on red, the two of them knew that words were unnecessary. They never needed them, never really spoke of them. It almost felt like facing a clone of himself, Akashi once joked _(but boy did he know how much of a lie that was)._

Standing by a body of yet another victim, Akashi found himself laughing a lot more often than he thought he would.

\---

In less than twenty fours and in no more than twenty-four-hundred steps Akashi worked his way up across the hierarchy in single snaps, grisly sacrifices and raw guilt scorned they all bellowed beneath his feet.

The boy was famished and like a wolf you'd find deep within the woods where danger lies and death lays, Akashi wanted nothing more than a fast kill, quick and witty, sharp and slick. He would watch how they bled, dilated pupils and mouth agape, blanched face and soiled nails a sight so wrong it felt right--

_"Akashi."_

Shintarou gave him matchsticks. It's always the matchsticks, always the fire as if they were two serial killers whose sin needed to be swept away, whose tracks needed to be hidden so justice wouldn't find and dragged them down the hall to justify.

But Akashi did it anyway. He burned them like they meant nothing, like they were remains of the unknown and Akashi was but a patrol police cleaning up the woods.

_(it was beautiful and dazzling and and--)_

The boy took a few steps back and placed a hand before his mouth, hiding the arch of a sinister smile though his eyes, red and yellow they exploded in a flurry of arrogance, ignited sparks painting destruction all across the field--

_Akashi never felt so alive._

\---

The first of his ~~many~~ victims that he remembered; it was a boy with very faint colored hair, faded blue close to white. He was tiny and helpless and it reminded Akashi of his first kill, the Boy with Spear. 

Except, along those vague lines of deduction and assumption, Akashi realized that he could have been even more dangerous than anyone else in the arena. It felt like a threat and it threatened him in a way he couldn't quite put a finger on, deceitful yet alluring (the ghosts in his mind sighed and dispersed and Akashi lied to Shintarou about his victims not screaming when he's asleep - _they all do, they all do_ ).

"Akashi Seijuurou."

_The boy knew his name._

"Are you going to cut me open like your first kill?"

_The boy knew his game._

"Are you going to set me on fire too?"

_The boy knew his pattern._

"Or are you going to tie strings around my joints and take over what's in here?" (he tapped the side of his head - _thud thud thud_ \- grey nails covered in mud and soil and murky river water)

Winter frost drowned him in a pool of thirst (for the boy's beating heart in his hand and lifeless body under the sole of his shoes).

"It wouldn't be wise to tell you now, would it--"

"No, it won't. I do agree with you, Akashi-kun," there were arrows set behind his back, some were clean while most were strained, "either way, I don't have a chance here, do I?"

_"No, you don't."_

Because none of them ever really had a choice (or a chance), unlike _him._


End file.
